


Prompt - "It's just a cut, really."

by IMAgentMI



Series: Red vs Blue Quickies [27]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 04:30:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12100755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMAgentMI/pseuds/IMAgentMI
Summary: York arrives back to the Pelican a bit battered.  Wash tries to get him to stop bleeding everywhere.





	Prompt - "It's just a cut, really."

Wash jumps out of his seat on the Pelican as a figure in gold armour runs up the ramp. York’s entire left side is blackened by smoke, and there appear to be several cracks in his shoulder plate, along with a fissure along the top left side of his helmet.  “What the hell happened to you?” It takes a second for Wash to register the lines of red progressing down through the black of his undersuit - it’s only when drips make their way down onto the gold metal that the picture snaps into place. “You’re bleeding.  Like, a lot.”  Wash yanks the first aid kit off its holder on the wall, starts rifling through it.

“It’s just a cut, really.”  Blood continues to flow from under his helmet, making their way over his breastplate to drip onto the floor.

“ _ No shit. _ ”  Wash pulls out a pair of gloves, and multiple packets.  “Can you take off your helmet for me?” 

“Yeah - it’s busted, healing unit is offline.” York gingerly removes his helmet and there’s another cascade of red. He looks over the damage to his equipment before tossing it further into the hold. “Looks like you get to play doctor with me this time.”  

“Did you have to word it that way?  Christ, there’s so m-- can you take a knee? I can’t see anything properly from here.”

York kneels down while Wash opens and closes compartments on the Pelican walls.  He finally finds towels, and turns his attention back to York.  “Shit, you’re a mess.  I can’t even see where it’s all coming from.”  Wash dabs carefully across York’s scalp, watching for which way the blood drips, parting his hair to look for cuts. It takes a minute to finally find it - the cut itself is only about an inch long and doesn’t look particularly deep, but in the nature of most scalp wounds, it bleeds like a fucker. “Found it.  Lay down.  Here -” Wash hands York a towel. “For your face. You look like you bathed in it.”

“Thanks.”  York takes the towel and mops away the worst of the blood, then holds the cloth against his forehead to keep more from dripping back down.  He lowers himself the rest of the way to the floor and tries to get comfortable while Wash tears open packet after packet of gauze.  He uses a corner of York’s towel to wipe away excess blood that is blocking his view, then presses multiple pieces of gauze over the wound.  York shifts, but doesn’t say anything. “You okay, York?”

“Totally.”  York shifts again.  “It stings, but that’s it.”

“You’re not dizzy? Nauseous? Faint?”  Wash settles next to York, trying to get comfortable while still maintaining pressure on the wound.

“Nope. And for the record,” York added dryly, “If I was feeling faint, I’d make sure to aim myself towards someone’s arms other than yours.”

“You’re on the ground, moron.”  There’s blood coming through the gauze.  With his other hand, Wash hands another packet to York.  “Open this for me?”  York tears it open, holding onto the torn package as he offers the gauze back to Wash, to keep from dirtying it.  Wash accepts the piece, presses it on top of the others without removing them.  “Hey Delta, you there?”

“ _ I’m here, Agent Washington. _ ”  

“Could you set a timer? Fifteen minutes?”

“ _ Complying. Fifteen minutes starting now. _ ”

They sit in silence for a minute or two, York fidgeting occasionally and drumming his thumbs against his codpiece.  Suddenly Wash stiffens, listening to a voice in his helmet.

“Copy, Boss. Go ahead.”  There’s a pause, then -- “York made it to the Pelican as well. Over.”  Another short pause.  “Copy. See you in a minute then. Over and out.”

York half lifts his head before Wash pushes him back down. “What was that about?”

“Carolina, Maine and Wyoming are on their way back - they retrieved their objective but got held up for a bit. They’ll be here in just a couple minutes.”

“ _ Shit. _ ”  York pushes Wash’s hand away, starts to sit up before Wash forces him back down again. “Don’t say a  _ word _ , you hear me?”

Wash gives him the incredulous look that deserves.  “You’re absolutely  _ covered _ in blood.  You seriously think she wouldn’t notice?” 

“She doesn’t have to know it’s mine.”

Another ribbon of blood winds its way through York’s hair before Wash gets the gauze back down. “Yeah well, since you’re staying on the goddamn floor for the next - Delta, please reset the timer?”

“ _ Resetting. Fifteen minutes starting now. _ ”

“Since you’re staying on the floor for another fifteen minutes, it’ll be pretty obvious.  Make your peace with it.” 

“Now just a m-”  York glares up at him, and Wash applies more pressure, to hold him on the floor rather than to deal with the wound.

“York, stay down, or I’ll put you down.”

A little green figure bursts into light, hovering over York.  “ _ I can assist with that. _ ”

York’s eyes pop wide as Wash hurriedly waves the A.I off.  “ _ No, _ Delta. I wasn’t being serious. Please… don’t.”

“ _ As you wish, Agent Washington. _ ”  Delta flickers and disappears.

“Little green traitor,” York mutters, just as there’s the sound of voices outside the Pelican.  Both men look up as their teammates charge up the ramp, Carolina in the lead.  

Carolina heads toward the cockpit yelling to Niner while Maine carries in their objective, a metal crate the size of a small table.  Wyoming follows and drops heavily into one of the seats along the wall, pulling off his helmet to peer at his teammates with little interest before leaning back and closing his eyes.  The back hatch closes, the engines roar and the Pelican takes off.

Carolina emerges from her discussion with Niner and stops dead at the sight of York and Wash on the floor. She rips off her helmet to get a better view, taking in the drying streaks of blood on York’s face, the coat of it down the front of his armour.  She bypasses York and addresses Wash instead.  “Is he okay?  What happened?”  

“Dunno what happened, but yeah, he’s okay.”  Wash looks down at the gauze again to escape her gaze.  “With his healing unit down h--”  

Carolina turns away from Wash abruptly, glaring at York.  “Your healing unit is broken?  You blew up again, didn’t you?” she asks, accusingly.  “What was it this time?  Mine?  Grenade?  Heat guided missile?”

York gives her a winsome smile, but it falters under her withering look.  “At least I got you guys in before it happened. Turned out fine. I came back.”  

Just as abruptly, Carolina returns her attention to Wash and leans down to get a closer look.  “Going to need stitches?”

“Probably.  Not many.”

Carolina straightens. “Get him down to medical as soon as we get back. Agent York -” her next words carry far less heat as her attention switches yet again, “- I will see you after debriefing.”  Without another word, Carolina walks back through into the cockpit, and the door closes behind her.

Wash lets out a low whistle and checks to make sure the gauze hasn’t shifted off the cut.  “Glad it’s you and not me, man.”  He looks over and is surprised to see York smiling.

“Nah, it’s good.” York closes his eyes and resumes his drumming against his armour, still grinning.  “It’s all good.”


End file.
